Fifty Fifty
by assgronsky
Summary: No one told her that at twenty-five, her life could be summed up in two words. That those two words would change the course of everything. They'd push people away and bring others closer to her. No one told her that life could turn out quite like this.
1. its the end of the world as we know it

**Fifty Fifty**

**Summary: No one told her she'd be twenty-five and her chance of living was fifty fifty. No one told her that it'd make people bail, and some cling. No one told Quinn Fabray that she might have to deal with a life like this. **

**Ships: Eventual Quinntana, with mentions of Faberry and Brittana. **

_Warnings: Loosely based on the film 50/50, there are some major similarities in certain scenes, but I'm not going to be copying the film completely and it's been adjusted to fit the storyline I have in mind._

* * *

**i. it's the end of the world as we know it **

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

It was simple. It was instinct. It was repetition.

Quinn's lungs expanding and tightening. Air meeting blue blood and turning red as her breathing came out as evenly as she could as she pushed herself through the streets of Seattle. Pushed her body a little further until she came to an intersection. Her body moving in place, her breath coming in tendrils of white air as she inhaled, exhaled. Waiting...waiting to be allowed to cross.

Running in place. If she stopped now, she'd walk home. Walk home and make a quick pitstop by Dunkin' Donuts. That was the last thing she needed, any more carbs. She kept moving, her knees rising in the motion without the real movement as Kanye pounded a little too loudly through her earphones.

She needed the beat. The energy. To keep going, and not get caught up on the fact that Dunkin' Donuts was a little too close to her apartment.

Quinn was practically salivating by time the light finally changed. The white pedestrian lighting up and the cars stopping as she finally moved. Jogging until she reached the other side of the street, her hands leaving her sides and curving around the back of her spine as she bent over.

There was a knife. A knife slashing along her back, it had to be. The pain-it wasn't new, but lately it had gotten worse, and it was enough to knock the breath out of her right now.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Simple. It was simple, but right now, as the pain continued at the apex of her spine, Quinn was finding it a lot harder than normal. It had never been like this. Never had her bending over, her breath ragged as she tried to make it until it passed, until it was mild enough she knew that she could make it home easily.

Inhale.

A new song had made it's way to her ears, before she was able to straighten her back and pick up a new tempo. Jogging home wasn't an option, but a donut wasn't as appealing at the moment. Not when work loomed and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed.

Exhale.

* * *

"Jesse thinks that I've really pegged my solo. I mean-I've had more in older productions, but this one-" Rachel's voice was drifting in from the bathroom. It carried. Carried over the water that was running as Rachel washed her face. Quinn's fingers were shaking as she buttoned her oxford. Downing three Advil hadn't prevented her from fearing that a pain similar to what she had felt while running would hit her while she was at work, or at home, or anywhere, really. She was thankful that Rachel's voice was as loud as it was naturally. She needed to think about anything other than the pain in her back. "This one, I'm really working hard for. The producer says that this could make or break my future in the company. I mean, this could mean New York one day, Quinn. New York without having to work my way up there."

"Well, Jesse knows what he's talking about, doesn't he?" Quinn replied, softly, moving in from her bedroom to the adjacent bathroom, Rachel already pressing her face into her towel. Quinn's shoulder met the door frame as she smiled at her girlfriend. Rachel wouldn't have to go in for practice for a few more hours, but of course, unlike Quinn, Rachel put hours of effort into being Rachel Berry, the rising star of Seattle's acting community. And one day her girlfriend would be on a Broadway stage, it was just a matter of earning it.

At least, that's what Rachel said everytime they spoke about it.

Rachel's eyes met Quinn's in the mirror and a smile moved along her lips as she nodded, "He does, because I mean, he chose to stay here...if he hadn't, I might not take his word so seriously, but he could be doing anything, he just apparently has an attachment to this city." There is a slight roll of her eyes. Quinn knows that she doesn't respect that. That Rachel doesn't understand why anyone wants to stay in the city.

Quinn had been born and raised here. Had grown, lived and experienced the city until she had known it like a second nature. And it was where she had met her girlfriend. Dragging her best friend to a production of _South Pacific_. Rachel had looked almost ridiculous in the costumes and the story line was campy, but Quinn had found herself more focused on the brunette than the story about love that Roger and Hammerstein had written. And she knew it was worth it, the fact that she had forced Santana to stay after the show so she could ask the woman to sign her program...it had led to a number and now seven months later, she was watching as Rachel prepared for a day of practice for a much more serious role than she had been doing.

"I know that I can't wait until opening night." Quinn was grinning at her girlfriend as Rachel moved from the sink counter and was sliding past Quinn with a quick peck to her cheek.

"You're biased." Rachel chided as she strode into the bedroom, Quinn turned to keep watching her, her glancing moving only for a moment to check the time. She needed to get to work, but San wasn't here yet, and there was still a couple moments left of enjoying this part of the morning without thinking about the incident during her morning run.

_HMMMPPHHHH_! _**HHHMMMPPHHHH**_!

"Babe?" Rachel turned to look at Quinn, her eyes filled with annoyance at Santana's honking from the street outside their apartment. A smile was still playing along the blonde's lips, and she stopped walking to the door to shoot a look to Rachel. "Where are skirts?"

"They're in your drawer." Quinn spoke louder as Santana's hand met once again with the horn.

_HMMMPPHH_.

But, Quinn wasn't moving. She was standing still again, only this time, instead of staring at a light, she was staring into the bemused face of her girlfriend. "My drawer? I have a drawer?"

The smile wasn't playing anymore and it was fullblown again across Quinn's features. "Yeah...the bottom one...I figured it was...ya know, time." She was almost more worried about what Rachel'd say to that than she was when she had been doubled over in pain.

There was something like a squee that erupted from Rachel's throat. And then her arms were winding around Quinn's neck. Lips against lips. That warm feeling that came with Rachel's lips on hers, of her body pressed against Quinn's. Santana's soundtrack from downstairs the only thing that had Quinn pulling back with a groan. A whisper leaving her, "I gotta get to work."

With that Rachel was on the other side of the room, digging into _her_ drawer. "It was time." She murmured to herself as Quinn left the apartment.

* * *

"I think it's stress, you know?" Simple. Rhythmic tapping against the steering wheel. "Stress that comes when you date supreme cunts."

Quinn had been listening. Hell, she had been open to Santana's opinion, until of course, she brought it back to Rachel.

"San-" Her tone was starting out warningly.

Dark eyes rolled back in their sockets, and Santana's foot was pressing a little harder on the gas as they made their way to work. "Just saying. This didn't really started until you started dating her."

"It's not because of Rachel." A sigh left Quinn, "And, I hope it is just stress. I have an appointment with my doctor tomorrow, _Rachel_ made me schedule it, actually."

"Of course, she did." Quinn watched as her best friend rolled her eyes again. "I just...I just don't get you with this girl. It's like she has a magical vagina that once it's touched, the toucher is blinded to seeing what a bitch she really is. I mean, all she does is talk about herself and her singing. Honestly, I'm surprised she even picked up on the fact you've been in pain."

Quinn had heard it before. Almost every car ride actually as they made their way to KVXT 87.9, working for a radio station meant that Santana refused to listen to radio stations. It was a combination of "it feels like work" according to the Latina and the fact that if she heard a story that was similar or better than hers, Quinn would have to deal with her best friend's quick temper and annoyance for the better half of the morning. So, they just left it off and for the past seven months, Quinn received a lecture on her choice of a girlfriend.

"Not to mention the fact that you're missing out on _so_ much sex by being tied down." Santana's voice would go husky, as it did every time she tried to make this point. Thoughts of the last conquest flooding her mind and bringing _that_ smile to her lips.

Quinn's nose wrinkled up, as it did everytime this was brought up. "I don't really see the appeal. I like being with Rachel, it's nice to be a part of something and not have to move from girl to girl and barely remember their names." Casual sex wasn't her deal, it had never been, though Santana seemed to forget this everytime she tried to get Quinn to join her at a club or a bar. "Maybe you should try it, settle down for a while. Sex with one person becomes something more meaningful than one night stands. It's...a great feeling, knowing that she's mine and I'm hers."

This earned Quinn a laugh...a laugh that had Santana choking on air as her palm slapped against the side of the steering wheel. Quinn's expression became steelier. Her lips tightening into a thin line as she glared at San.

"Y-yeah...whatever... you-say, Q." Santana struggled on her words a little as her laughter tried to subside as she eased the car off the street and into the parking garage. "Sounds...g-great."

Quinn's expression didn't ease up and she found that she was wishing Santana'd choke just a little longer.

* * *

Quinn Fabray never thought her life would be defined in two words.

Two words. Two that started to feel as though they were summing up twenty-five years of life. Of experiences. Of everything that she had been and would be. And it all came back to those two words.

It had been a week. A week since her first appointment with her doctor. A week since Rachel's arms had been around her neck, their bodies pressed together as they made one move to become more serious. One that had resulted in Rachel staying over more than she normally did during the week. Each night resulting in her lips pressing into that hallow of Rachel's throat that felt a little like home and anchored her more into the relationship that Santana mocked but Quinn cherished. One week.

There was a spiel of medical terms that she didn't quite understand. Coldly delivered into the doctor's recorder, until Quinn cleared her throat. "I don't...I don't understand." She had felt small when she said it, small because it sounded bad even though she didn't understand what he was saying.

And, now there were two words. Two words to sum it all up. Two words to only make her right in that gut feeling that told her it wasn't stress that caused her pain. Two words that her hands shaking in her lap and her eyes widened as the doctor delivered them.

Two words that she worried would define her. Two words that she was already wrapping around. Two words that almost blocked out everything else Dr. Barnhouse was saying. Her ears ringing as he went on to explain. Explain the two words and their origin. Their deeper meaning, but Quinn didn't see the point of a deeper explanation, because it was all clear.

Two words: malignant tumor.

Rare. Genetic mutation. _Two words_. On her spine.

Malignant tumor.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

"Am...am I going to be okay?" Quinn's words slashed through another series of explanations, chemotherapy, surgery, it was all leaving the doctor's mouth, until it wasn't anymore.

A moment of hesitation, one that seemed to pass for hours. "We have an excellent trained staff should you need someone to talk to. I can recommend you to one of our best psychiatrists."

It was supposed to be simple. Stress related. A shifted disc. This wasn't simple.

_Inhale_.

* * *

**AN: I have the rest of the fic outlined and while this chapter was very similar to the film, the rest will be taking its own turns. **

**Reviews are appreciated. **


	2. a loaded god complex

_[Fully italic scenes are memories.]_

* * *

**ii. a loaded god complex [cock it and pull it]**

_Exhale_.

Her head was turned. Refusing to watch as the needle slid into her skin. Instead, her eyes were up. Focused on the clear liquid that was dripping from the IV bag and traveling along the cord and into her veins.

Poison. Poison being put into her body to kill the poison that was killing her. It was almost poetic.

Almost. More so if she wasn't the one living through it. There were looks of shock. With her girlfriend, her family and the other patients sitting near her. She was too young. Quinn thought she was too young. Cancer was a thing for older people, or children. A thought that had her frowning, because she thought she was being greedy. Selfish in hating that this was happening to her.

Chemotherapy. Except it wasn't that therapeutical. It'd kill the bad cells, the ones causing the tumor-hopefully, but some good ones would go down as well. The website that she had stayed up late reading called it 'collateral damage.' All it knew was to kill reproducing cells, not their nature.

Collateral damage.

They were almost as meaningful as malignant tumor.

_Inhale_.

"Larry, have you met my new girlfriend?" There was some cackling. A hand, wrinkled and covered in liver spots covered her own.

"Oh, be quiet, you old bastard, I've already proposed to the girl, you're not her type, Dempsey." The other warm voice retorted, Quinn's eyes moved from her IV to the two older men sitting next to her. One was only fifty-nine, Dempsey-the one with his hand over hers, and it was reassuring. More reassuring than her father who had been afraid to hug her, afraid to speak when she broke the news over a dinner that Rachel ordered. He had introduced himself, cancer type first. Quinn wasn't sure, but she thought he was referring to lung cancer.

The other, Larry, late sixties. A third time recoverer of brain cancer, only this time the tumor couldn't be removed, well it couldn't be removed or it was too risky to try or he was just tired of dealing with it only for it to return. At least, that's what he said as the nurse had applied the needle. They both had been surprised by her age, and seemed to be sympathetic only for the fact she was dealing with it so early.

Quinn wasn't normally the type, but she let a smile break through her reserve. There was something...about the two older men and it earned them the response, "Neither of you are my type, if you know what I mean." One brow quirked up and both men were laughing with appreciative nods.

"So, you got a girlfriend?" Larry asked, and Quinn was just happy that someone of his age wasn't judging her for her lifestyle choices. Her father had tried, but once she had explained that he'd still have grandchildren-somehow-to spoil he was much easier to accept, because despite his stricter persona, Russell Fabray loved his daughter too much not to accept who she chose to love. But these men-it made her feel a little warm inside, to not be immediately judged, though thinking that they would judge her made her feel a little stereotypical, but she ignored it and nodded.

"Yeah, I do."

And she was waiting outside the hospital.

Quinn didn't mention that. She didn't mention the fact that Rachel had stayed outside. Refusing to go inside with her, even when Quinn tried to tell her that it was too long for her to wait. Instead of folding and agreeing to go in with her, Rachel just got that look about her, the same look that she had when Quinn had told her. It hadn't been three hours past the doctor telling her. Rachel wasn't crying when Quinn broke the news.

Quinn wasn't crying, either. She hadn't cried. She refused to cry, she just breathed.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Keeping a steady rhythm until the urge to break down left her. But it got harder. When that look crossed Rachel's face. That look like the brunette was drowning. Like her world was collapsing. It didn't seem connected to Quinn though, nor to their relationship.

"_You can leave, I mean, I don't want you to stay if you can't. I understand that this isn't what you signed up for, I'm giving you-" Quinn had to take a deep breath, she didn't want to end it...but she couldn't assume that Rachel could handle it all. _

_Hell, she could barely handle it. _

"_I'm giving you an out." _

_That look was still on her face. It took a moment to clear, but not completely as Rachel finally made a movement, shaking her head. "I'm not going to abandon you...never." Her arms were around Quinn's throat again and Quinn's head was nuzzling into the crook of Rachel's neck...trying to anchor herself. _

* * *

**Center for Supportive Care. **

It sounded made up. It sounded stupid, and Quinn read the sign outside the set of glass doors at least twenty times before she sighed, squaring her shoulders and opening them.

People needed support. Hell, if she was ever honest with herself and her own weaknesses, it was clear that Quinn needed the support. Fifty percent chance of living, fifty of dying. And she just had this odd feeling that it wouldn't ever be as simple as that. Her life wasn't simple anymore.

This place had a simple name. A stupid name. One that she wished was different so that if ever brought up in conversation, Quinn wouldn't have to actually say that her psychiatrist worked for the Center for Supportive Care-at a teaching hospital. Her mother would have made a comment. A comment similar to the one where she questioned Quinn's doctor's validity.

Quinn was questioning the validity of this shrink. First the stupid name of this part of the hospital and more as she peeked into the door marked Dr. Evans. Her knuckles rapping against the wood of the door as Quinn moved into the crack between the threshold.

The office was a mess. Papers everywhere. The desk scattered with action figures and there was a framed Captain America comic book cover on the wall near the computer. A bookshelf rose behind the couch, that did look rather comfy, filled with books, half of their titles including the words "psychology of." And sitting in a large leather chair was a man with blonde hair. A man with shaggy blonde hair eating a large sandwich.

"Doctor Evans?" Quinn's brows were rising and she felt like her mother as she started to wonder what kind of teaching hospital this was.

Having apparently not heard the knock on the door, or mistaken it for something else, his head shot up. His body turning to look at her and his chest meeting with his sandwich as his arms didn't move with him. "Yes! That's...me." He started out eager, and that turned to a groan when he saw where a drop of mustard had met the pale green sweater he was wearing.

He pushed the sandwich away, setting it on his desk before standing, and dabbing just as eagerly at the stain on his shirt with a napkin. _Eat Fresh_. The messaged seemed almost subliminal and taunting, though Quinn had begun to take everything with some larger meaning...how could she not and all she was taking this as was a sign that if her chances leaned more to the dying side, she'd be eating whatever the hell she wanted because who cared about staying perfectly in shape when you knew your expiration date was approaching.

"I'm-" She started, moving further into the office.

Inhale.

"Quinn Fabray!" He was a little to happy for her tastes, but maybe that's what the job required. If one was to council the dying or the ill, maybe they should be as eager and optimistic as Dr. Evans, "I knew you were coming, lunch just seemed to take longer..." He smiled apologetically, but it was a smile. It was large-as was his mouth. Feeling a little overcritical especially because she was now the girl with cancer, she shook those thoughts and her lips curved up in retaliation. "Please take a seat." His free hand waved towards the couch.

_Exhale_.

She was actually about to do this. Talk to someone. What did she have to hide, though? Nothing, especially when she was only here because she could die. Could die, soon, to be more clear. Everyone died.

Everyone died, eventually. Quinn was just a lot closer than she should be.

* * *

"I'm gonna miss you."

"You know my brother had the same thing, he's just fine."

"I'm praying for you, my whole church is."

"You're going to fight this."

It was supposed to be a party. There was a drink in her hand. It had started out as fruit punch, but in the blur of coworkers and a smirk across Santana's face and then it started to taste more like rum as she watched the people she had been working with for four years hug her and pat her shoulder and act like it was the last time they'd see her.

Unlike a party however, her mood wasn't improving, instead, she found herself drinking the punch-spiked rum with a little more vigor and interrupting Santana's seduction of this receptionist-one that Quinn had seen everyday but had just learned was named Brittany and who thought "cancer was a bummer" before she too threw her arms around Quinn and hugged her like it was her last day on earth. Finally, just slipping the flask into Quinn's pocket, Santana gave her a wink before grabbing for the pretty receptionist's hand and dragging her off.

They'd be going to the supply closet on the second floor. It was a normal place of Santana's when she decided to fraternize with a coworker. Quinn had spent the better part of the last couple years hearing the greatest hits of the supply closet hook-ups. Apparently, it was amazingly soundproofed and Quinn always averted her eyes when Santana started to rave about how her tongue produced results that required soundproofing.

The cake was what had her leaving. Her arms tight around her body as she hugged the coat to her as she walked home. Santana wouldn't be reliable for a ride and she liked the brisk air...liked the quiet of the evening.

The cake had three candles. Icing spelling out "You can do it, buddy!" It was enough to make the room shrink and Quinn needed out. She needed to be away from what was far less optimistic than she was trying to be. She didn't want to think about dying when she was...and the words of encouragement only made her feel like a child and she was suffocating as she got out. Receiving more hugs before she was finally able to break out of the building and could breath again.

* * *

"_You're shitting me right?" _

"_I wish." _

"_So you're actually..." _

"_Umm...maybe?" _

"_Maybe? What the fuck do you mean maybe?" _

"_Well, WebMD said there was like...a fifty fifty chance of...survival...death, whatever." _

"_Fifty? Shit, Q. That's good. Hell, that's better than...that's pretty damn even. You scared the shit out of me...fuck. Fifty percent, I think you got this." _

* * *

"You didn't like the party?" Sam asked.

Quinn was calling him Sam. He had asked her too, there had been a few times when she had said "Dr. Evans", especially during their first session where he just blinked for a few seconds before he realized that she was talking to him. Then it was Sam. Sam was simple. It felt less clinical and she was able to relax more onto the couch the next visit.

"_You can do it, Buddy!" _

"Not really." Quinn's nose was scrunching up and her head was shaking as her eyes trained on the small stain that looked a bit like steak sauce on his sleeve. "I mean, they were all really great and I know they were trying to help, but-"

"It doesn't?" He prompted once she let her sentence trail off for a few seconds.

"Not really. I just-some of the encouragement...is a little misplaced? I mean, it feels great that they think that I can survive this, but on the other hand, it's like how do they even know?" Shaking her head again, Quinn sat up a little more and her hands smoothed over her slacks.

"No one is really gonna know...I mean, except an actual doctor, but you know what I mean." Sam's pen was tapping against a clipboard and Quinn wandered what he could be writing about her. Or maybe he wasn't...she imagined him the type to take occasional notes and doodle.

She'd doodle.

But, she couldn't help but wonder-what he thought was wrong with her.

"And you know they mean well."

Quinn nodded. Everyone meant well. Rachel, even though she couldn't go into the hospital with her. Santana, even though San seemed to enjoy using Quinn's cancer to get laid. Her parents, who had spoken to her more in the last week than they had in the last couple years when it wasn't a holiday. Her coworkers...and their cake.

"I guess I'll have to get used to it."

Then he was pulling the paper from under the clip. Passing it to her with a gentle smile. Everything about Sam was gentle. Gentle and simple and Quinn's eyes were meeting a list...

"Here are some books that my other patients have read and that are kinda recommended for people in your situation." He explained. "They might help a little more than your friends and family if you want to explore other options for coping."

Wasn't he supposed to be the majority of her coping option? Wasn't that why Doctor Barnhouse sent her here? To the Center for Supportive Care. But, she just nodded again and folded it up, slipping it into her purse.

* * *

"Q, I don't think you fully understand how much ass you could be getting." Santana's hands were waving as Quinn's attention to her best friend was put on the back burner as Quinn's eyes scanned through the shelves of books...

Sam's list in her hands as she went.

"I don't want to get ass. I'm dating Rachel." Quinn's eyes rolled, her fingers tracing along the shelf. Unlike Santana, Quinn wasn't concerned about sex-not that she and Rachel were having it. It had been going slow even before Quinn got the news, but then it seemed to slow to almost a stop. But, she didn't mind-Rachel was still around, even though she had given her an out, but she had decided to stick around-even though she always seemed to be giving Quinn that look.

Like she was drowning. Like she was like Quinn and couldn't breath. Suffocating with the weight of reality.

_Inhale_.

"Fine, fine. But, don't come crying to me because you're missing the chance of a lifetime to get pretty much anyone in bed with you." Santana smirked, her eyes moving to a girl with a name tag and who was stacking books. Her fingers grabbed the list from Quinn and she was on her way...Quinn watched...

Exhale.

The worker read the titles. There was a look of doe-eyed sadness until Santana motioned towards Quinn and the girl nodded sympathetically.

Another girl. One Quinn would hear about in the morning. Just like she had heard-for the past couple days all about that receptionist. All about the colorful sex life of Santana Lopez, while Quinn got stuck staring into the trapped eyes of her girlfriend-needing reassurance and also trying to do everything to reassure Rachel.

* * *

**AN: Another chapter down and the next is when the fic is going to take it's own footing from the film. **

**Reviews are love. **


	3. you said you would stand by me

**iii. you said you'd stand by me by the end of chapter three; but you were up to your old tricks by chapters four, five and six **

It started with Quinn's body shaking. Her body emptying out every single thing that she had eaten that day. It was the fifth time she had retched in the last fifteen minutes and she was surprised that anything was even coming up. The taste of bile almost burned in her throat by time she rolls to the side of the toilet.

Rachel's standing at the door of the bathroom. Her hair messed up with sleep and her eyes red from exhaustion.

_Inhale_.

"I don't..." This was the third night in a row that Quinn had woken up only to spend the rest of the night sleeping on the floor of the bathroom. Yesterday, Rachel had mentioned that she hadn't been able to sleep.

Quinn hadn't either.

_Exhale_.

"I don't think I can do this anymore." Of course, her voice had that damn dramatic flare and Quinn hated her more for that in that moment than she did that she was leaving.

She knew she was going to leave.

No one wants to hitch their wagon to a dying horse, literally.

_Inhale_.

Quinn couldn't say anything, nothing but pull herself up quickly, bile and water that she had swallowed to get the taste out of her mouth splashing in the bowl. Tremors running along her spine.

Rachel was turning on her heel. And Quinn's stomach was still turning. It wasn't just side-effects from the chemo anymore.

OOO

"I always told you she was a bitch."

_Exhale_.

"You don't like any of my girlfriends." Quinn defended, her fingers playing along the handle of the door, she was staring out. The blur of the buildings far more interesting than that smug look that was planted firmly on Santana's face.

"Maybe if you didn't date such selfish cunts then I would actually like the girls you sleep with...oh, wait, you don't actually sleep with them." Santana's tone had Quinn's fingers tightening around the plastic handle. "Remind me, how long has it been since Rachel actually put out or went down on you?"

Muttering a few comments under her breath that Santana could tell included her name and a few creative thoughts on Quinn's parts. It didn't kill that overbearing "I told you, so" mood that Santana was emitting.

"Was it six or seven months?" Santana continued to prompt until Quinn was sighing and turning her attention to the smirking Latina in the driver's seat.

"Five. It's been five months." Quinn was basically whispering.

Even Santana faltered for a moment, "Wait...you found out you got cancer and she didn't even let her tongue slither sympathetically between your thighs?"

"San..."

_Inhale_.

"Like...what a bitch. Don't worry, now that you're free, we'll get you laid."

"Santana."

_Exhale_.

* * *

The strobe lights were making her head hurt. This probably wan't the best plan of Santana's that Quinn was bullied into. Her entire shift at work had been spent trying to edit an impossible piece and listening to Santana persuade her into coming to one of the bars they used to frequent when they had been in college.

Sometime in the last couple years, instead of questionable people in leather jackets and ripped jeans who had just an edge of danger, it had been overrun with hipsters and house music.

House music that caused her head ache.

"I'm going home." Quinn was leaning in, her voice leaving her as loud as she could manage but still a whisper to Santana.

"Wait, what?" Santana's eyes had been glued to a brunette's legs for the last half hour as she and Quinn leaned against the bar nursing beers.

Her eyes were hard and meeting Quinn's with that same look she had been sporting all evening that basically just was her trying to figure out what exactly her friend was made from to make her not want to have fun especially considering that the amount of time on earth Quinn had was far limited compared to San's.

Quinn's shoulders fell and she was leaning in a little closer to her friend. The spicy apple smell that was signature to the Latina was assaulting her senses even over the sweaty, beer smell of the club.

"It's just not happening...the whole hooking up thing...and I'm tired."

Quinn was always tired. It was a side-effect of the chemo.

All it took was the look on Quinn's face and even Santana softened.

"Fine." She hissed out, turning to put her bottle down hard on the counter.

"You don't have to leave..." Quinn replied.

Santana's fingers were interlocking with hers, lifting them above their heads and leading Quinn out without another word.

_Inhale_.

* * *

"How does it make you feel?"

"The cancer?"

Sam was shaking his head. Quinn still couldn't get over how young he was, or the way the light filtering into his office made his hair almost look white.

He hadn't appreciated it when she asked if he died it. He was nice. Dr. Evans only widened his eyes and asked what made her think that and spent the rest of the session touching his hair self-consciously.

"No, the break-up."

"Oh."

"Just oh?"

"We broke up." Quinn's eyes were on the ceiling. There was Enya or some new age crap playing in the background because Dr. Evans seemed to think it was a helpful calming tactic. He had stated which class or medical journal he had read it in the first session he had asked her to lay back on the soft and large couch, an unwanted hand meeting her shoulder to calm her.

She wasn't that calm around him. Not when she was asked to open up and talk her about her illness, her life - what was left of it anyway.

"And...that's it? You don't wanna tell me more about it?"

"There isn't really more to talk about, I kinda...knew it was coming."

OOOO

Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. It was coming out in clumps and Quinn was afraid to wear it down. Afraid to see it thinner and deader and her reflection was already scary enough.

The curves she had once hated, a few extra pounds on her hips and thighs...they were gone. Her eyes were looking sunken in. She had always been pale, silky ivory skin that she used to wish would tan...and now that it was taking a grey tint, she would do anything to have that healthy white back.

Another slam of suitcase against the hardwood flooring of her living room.

_Inhale_.

Santana was moving in. She figured Quinn needed someone. And she was sick of her landlord trying to touch her ass everytime he insisted to she hand deliver her rent.

If Quinn was honest, she'd say that she actually liked the thought of not being alone anymore. Ever since Rachel left it had gotten quiet around the house. Now there was really no chance of quiet, not with Santana and her loud reality shows and laughter. The music that wafted throughout the house even though Santana had only been there for an hour, she had managed to bogart the cd player to have 'moving music'.

"Q! Hurry the hell up in there, I can't make margaritas and unpack at the same time!" Santana's fist pounded on the bathroom door, "To the blender, Blondie!"

_Exhale_.

* * *

"So, you really haven't had sex in half a year?"

Santana's tan feet were propped up in her lap and Quinn was cautiously applying black nail liqueur to her toenails.

"I really haven't." Quinn answered, exasperatedly, this had to be the two hundredth time that Santana had asked that since she and Rachel broke up.

"That's really pathetic, Q, you realize that, right?"

"Stop fidgeting...and yeah, I know pathetic, you've made that point before."

"I could you know...help you with that."

"Your nails?" Quinn laughed, raising a brow, "We both know you always end up with the polish over everything and I'd rather not have a stain on my couch."

"No, not my nails." Santana was rolling her eyes, "The sex. I'd hate to think your last days on earth were spent with self-love."

Quinn's lips parted into a perfect 'O' as she started at her friend in surprised...right before the denial kicked in and she was shaking her head quickly to both sides. "No, no...we can't." Santana had been her best friend since the Latina pulled her hair on day three of kindergarten and called her Barbie. A few minutes later after Quinn had jerked on the long raven ponytail of Santana's they had decided instead of becoming enemies, it'd be better to just go build something together in the sandpit.

There had been times...when both girls had discovered in high school that Quinn's taste ran the gay way and Santana could go either way, which she had until college when an asshole humiliated her at a frat party and Santana vowed that she wouldn't touch another penis as long as she lived. Only Quinn knew how Santana had cried over that guy, how she had thought he had knocked her up and called her a 'lose slut who probably would never figure out who the baby daddy was'...it took a week, but it had been just an irregular cycle and Quinn had held her every night after.

But, Santana was her best friend...and sex was complicating.

"I know what you're thinking, but sex is sex." Santana was leaning forward, "I'm hot, you're hot...-" And dying, but Quinn was thinking what Santana couldn't say. "I got needs, you got needs."

San's feet were sliding off Quinn's lap and she was scooting closer towards the blonde.

"Just let me take care of you." A husky whisper that came as Santana's lips were pressing against the curve of Quinn's throat. Her breath warm on her skin, warm considering everything was colder when you got cancer, or so it seemed to Quinn.

Hazel irises locked onto almost black ones. Tan hands moving to cup pale shoulders before Santana moved to her knees and started to press Quinn back against the couch.

There was a little bit of panic in Quinn. She didn't want to ruin them. Their friendship...but it wasn't like she knew if she was going to live or die, so she moved fluidly with Santana's guiding. "...San..." She breathed, almost warningly.

Which only was responded with a shush from Santana's plump lips and Quinn was laying as comfortably as she could against the couch.

"Just...I can't take your-"

A slender finger was to her lips, stopping her words.

"I know." Santana whispered.

The problem with spinal cancer was that it wasn't always easy for her to be on her back, especially with pressure.

Soon, Quinn's thighs were being spread, Santana was settling as best as she could between them.

A talented tongue and fingers assaulting Quinn's senses. Her nerves narrowing their attention completely and fully to the head of dark hair, curses and sin between her legs. Quinn's breath short and gasping as her inner muscles tightened impossibly around the two invading fingers. So tight that when Santana brought it up later, because she was the kind of person that couldn't not bring it up would remark that Quinn was tighter than anyone she had ever been with. Quinn would blush as she had when she was spread out and wound up for the brunette.

It'd wear her out, three consecutive climaxes all thanks to a swirling tongue and curling fingers.

Santana would demand repayment the next morning when she climbed into Quinn's shower.

_Inhale_.

* * *

_AN: Another chapter down, enjoy. _

_Reviews are love. _


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